Last week, I went to the planetarium’s senior night, a very nostalgic, senior-y thing. It felt vast, scary, and as the screen rotated toward Mars, I was transported back to that little-girl place.
It comes up, a punch line inevitable in conversations about things like school buses or lockers: I’m home schooled. No, I didn’t go to a normal school. Yes, ha ha, I did wear pajamas sometimes. Out of pity, my housemates recently threw a prom-themed party and rigged it so that I won prom queen. Yes, I was ecstatic.
The distance between my room and the classroom has, historically, been measured with swearing. I’m usually half-awake and late for class. It is not a pleasant time.
Among the thick rustle of silk and ego at the Oscars on Sunday, a question surfaced: why does everyone hate Anne Hathaway so much?
Sophomore year, my friend Noah introduced me to the term “unicorn.” It may not be the one in Webster’s dictionary, but, essentially, a unicorn is someone you see everywhere.
You are driving down the highway, late at night. The only thing working is the radio, and the station choices are both static and sparse: to discover a song you connect with is serendipity. But then, cheesy and rakish, it comes on: the perfect song.
“Can I have your number?” I’d just spent an hour talking with the guy about homework, but the question caught me off-guard.
“The only thing I care about more than feminism,” writes Caitlin Moran in an interview with Salon magazine, “is being funny.”
Ladies and Gentleman of the jury, I bring you Sufjan Stevens. Reindeer headbands and Santa hats are most commonly associated with your Grandma’s kitschy attic — but at his concert Sunday night, these things were the centerpiece of Sufjan’s performance. In the audience, there were more tacky sweaters than at a faculty holiday party.
My complicated relationship with the word “literally” began earlier this year. Two of my best friends began a Twitter account called Literally a Handle, which retweets overheard misuses of the word (my personal favorite being “my personal trainer’s legs are literally tree trunks”).
